But What If You’re Too Scared? He Asked.

i can’t speak for anyone but myself.
but in that case: i do nothing
and i keep on doing nothing
until i finally have to do
something
and then i do it,
because i simply can’t not.
i’ve never been too-afraid indefinitely.
eventually fear tapers.
then courage
steps out, wearing
the cloak of sheer desperation.
the future writes itself this
way, in spurts of passion
and lulls of indecision,
ignorant entirely
of our
hoping, simply turning
from one occasion to the next, fearful
or indifferent.
the illusive someday
never comes until it does:
in a crash of little
nows.
the future
is illusion, like a mirror
always blurred by the condensation
of heavy breathing, always
eventually shattered
leaving cuts.
so the fear of what
might be is trampled by
the stampede of what must, and
sometimes – even sometimes – on purpose.

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